


Drag My Nails on the Tile

by TearCatcher



Series: Not Sure I'm There Yet But I'm Certain I've Arrived [3]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Light BDSM, M/M, Rimming, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 03:03:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12644844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TearCatcher/pseuds/TearCatcher
Summary: Set during the M A  N   I    A tour, partially inspired by my fob sister's experience at her show, and her desire for some Pete/Patrick shower sex. (Pete did not do an awards show during this tour, I know - it's still fiction!)





	Drag My Nails on the Tile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DisloyalOrderOfYoungVolcanoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisloyalOrderOfYoungVolcanoes/gifts).



> Set during the M A N I A tour, partially inspired by my fob sister's experience at her show, and her desire for some Pete/Patrick shower sex. (Pete did not do an awards show during this tour, I know - it's still fiction!)

As soon as the wheels of Pete’s plane touch the runway, he pulls out his phone. He thumbs through his notifications carelessly and quickly opens iMessage to Patrick’s name. _Just landed, baby_ , he taps out, a goofy grin on his face. _Can’t wait to see you <3_

 _Hurry up and get here_ , is the only response he gets.

“Here” is the venue they’re playing tonight. They had a few days off tour, during which the other guys had gone home, but Pete had gone to New York, making a long-planned appearance at an awards show and dealing with some minor band business. It’s stuff Patrick always tells Pete he’s incredibly grateful he handles, but Pete had so much to do in the few days he was there that he barely had time to shoot a quick text to Patrick in between it all, and their nightly phonecalls had been brief.

By the time Pete arrives at the venue, he feels wound up and jittery with anticipation - not for the show (which he is looking forward to, of course), but for _Patrick_. He tries telling himself that it’s only been a few days and he’s being ridiculous - they’ve weathered much longer separations than this - but he also knows part of it is the lack of contact this time. Sometimes he and Patrick will text almost all day long (well, mostly Pete, but Patrick reads every single text, smiles at every ridiculous photo), they’ll talk on the phone at night until Patrick is almost asleep, they occasionally Skype - and more often than not there’s some of kind of sexy time involved.

Pete fully intends to find his way to the band’s designated area as quickly as possible and make a beeline for Patrick, but he’s barely in the back door before he has a publicist in his face, reminding him of a phone interview and a mini photoshoot that soundcheck will have to be sandwiched between. He sighs inwardly, reminds himself of what an awesome job he has, and decides to do the interview immediately, although he still ends up having to dash to soundcheck afterwards.

Patrick is already there, guitar strapped in place, laughing with Andy as he stands on the riser next to his drumkit. Patrick’s laughter dies when he catches sight of Pete, his eyes suddenly becoming very intense when they lock onto him. Pete wants nothing more than to simply drop his bass and run straight to Patrick, but they have a soundcheck to do, including a new song practice, and they have to get through it as quickly as possible in order to get their fucking pictures taken. Pete’s need for Patrick has to take a backseat to all of their professional obligations. Pete settles for a sheepish smile and mouthing the word “hey,” which Patrick returns with a cool nod.

Pete feels Patrick’s eyes on him all throughout the photoshoot. It’s a little unnerving, because instead of posing for the camera, Pete can’t fight the compulsion to pose for Patrick. “Turn this way, Pete,” the photographer keeps telling him, when he drifts in Patrick’s direction without even meaning to. If Patrick realizes what Pete is being directed from doing, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

The photoshoot segues to meeting a contest winner, to a rushed dinner, to putting on stage clothes, and before Pete knows it he’s crouched under the stage, ready to be lifted up. To his frustration, the most contact he’s gotten with Patrick all day has been the high five before they all scattered to their positions.

Once they take the stage, Patrick all but ignores Pete. There are no sly grins or flirty glances thrown in his direction, and stage banter is kept to a minimum, although Patrick seems to be in a maddeningly good mood. He’s skipping around the stage happily, swaying his hips as he plays, and making lots of eye contact with the crowd, laughing in delight when he realizes a girl in the front row is wearing a Stump Club t-shirt. In contrast, Pete stalks around the stage, frowning in concentration as he plays, doing his best to give the crowd the caliber of show they came for, but all he can think about is _Patrick_. Early in the set, he tries prancing into Patrick’s line of vision as much as possible, hoping to attract his attention, but if Patrick looks in Pete’s direction it’s not when Pete can see it. Midway through the set, Pete attempts to get even closer, hoping some physical contact will force Patrick to acknowledge him. Patrick, however, seems to have a sixth sense when it comes to Pete (he always has), and somehow manages to get himself out of the way before Pete can close in. When they play “Grand Theft Autumn” toward the end of the show, rather than allowing Pete to rest his head on his shoulder during the last bridge, Patrick makes sure to keep a wide berth when Pete stands in front of him, looking past him at some undeterminable space in the crowd. By “Saturday”, Pete is just _mad_. He screams into the microphone with a force that shreds his throat and throws himself into the crowd, happily accepting the groping and screaming of the fans, because at least _they_ want to pay attention to him. He hopes Patrick is watching.

After leaving the stage, Pete’s anger is fueled by adrenaline and crossing over to livid. He hands off his bass to the waiting tech and snatches his customary bottle of water, spilling half of it down his chin and neck as he searches for Patrick. He has every intention of storming up to him, dragging him off somewhere - _anywhere_ \- and asking him what the _fuck_ his problem is. 

“Where the fuck did Patrick go?” he starts asking everyone within earshot, rushing around the backstage in a frenzy, until Brian points down a long hallway and says, “He went that way.”

Pete is too aggravated to think, let alone process the long-suffering look on Brian’s face, as he increases his pace down the hall, ready to unleash onto Patrick a torrent of angry words that are ultimately fueled by hurt. That is, if he could only _find_ the fucker.

There’s a sign saying he’s approaching the women’s locker room, which looks considerably smaller than the men’s counterpart, and Pete slows down, confused. He decides to just go a little farther before turning around, figuring Brian was wrong, when he’s startled by someone darting out of the locker room door and grabbing his arm. 

“Took you long enough,” Patrick smirks, making eye contact with Pete for the first time that night.

Pete’s heart is racing from the scare, but he still has a healthy dose of anger when he snaps,“Patrick, what the fuck - “

Patrick yanks him around the corner of the locker room entrance, effectively pulling him out of sight from the hallway, his eyes intense and focused on Pete’s. Now Pete can understand what is motivating Patrick, even before he slides his hands down his arms to capture his wrists, pinning them against the wall on either side of him. Pete’s anger dissipates immediately, leaving behind only a desire to be good for Patrick, knowing that if he behaves, he will be greatly rewarded. 

Patrick claims Pete’s mouth in a crushing kiss, teeth clacking together not altogether unpleasantly, and thoroughly explores his mouth with his tongue. Pete drinks up the kiss eagerly, feeling his own shirt wicking the stage sweat from Patrick’s, and tasting the saltiness all over Patrick’s lips. _This_ is what he’s been craving. The thought has just entered his mind to question why Patrick was behaving the way he was all night when Patrick pulls away from his mouth, leaving them both gasping, and moves down to his neck, rumbling in a low voice between bites and kisses, “Been waiting for this - couldn’t even look at you - if I did wouldn’t be able to think of anything else - just what I wanted to do to you - had to focus on the show.” Patrick releases Pete’s wrists and pulls at the hem of his jersey, Pete allowing his body to go loose so Patrick can pull it over his head. Patrick pinches both of his nipples sharply before walking backwards, guiding Pete in a firm grip grip at the base of the areolas. Pete willingly follows, uttering a moan that is half pain, half pleasure, feeling his cock throb between his legs as it pushes uselessly against the soft fabric of his track pants.

Patrick is backing carefully and slowly, occasionally glancing over his shoulder, but mainly keeping his eyes locked with Pete’s, fixing him with a burning stare, his eyes much darker than normal. Pete follows in a daze, mouth partially open and chest thrust out, until they arrive in the showers, all the way in the back corner. Patrick releases Pete’s nipples, but mercifully swipes his tongue over each one, relieving the sting while making the sensitive buds perk up even more.

“Strip,” Patrick says tersely, pulling back the flimsy shower curtain and starting the water. “Then get in the shower.”

It takes Pete a moment to get his bearings, and he’s a bit clumsy about it, but he quickly complies, taking off his shoes and socks, followed by his track pants and underwear in one go, setting them in a pile on a bench that has a stack of towels and their own shower caddies on it. He obediently goes into the shower, standing with his head bowed and his hands crossed at the wrists behind him, allowing the water to hit his shoulders and stream down. Patrick has set the water to the perfect temperature. (Even if it wasn’t, Pete wouldn’t dare adjust it.) He soon hears the rustle of the curtain behind him as Patrick enters, and draws in a slow, even breath as he feels Patrick’s eyes on him, examining him, appreciating him.

“So good, baby,” Patrick says admiringly. “You know just what to do.”

Pete feels a little burst of pride but stays completely still, awaiting instruction. He hopes he gets to drop to his knees and blow Patrick.

Patrick’s instructions, however, turn out not to be verbal. Patrick grasps Pete’s crossed wrists in one large hand and pushes him out of the water stream into the wall of the shower. Pete gasps at the shock of the cold tile against his heated skin, the underside of his swollen cock flush to the chill, the other side pressed into his own warm belly. Patrick’s own cock is just as hard, rutting at the crack of Pete’s ass, just a tease, as Patrick runs his mouth across his shoulders, randomly licking, biting and kissing. Pete can’t help it - he has to spread his legs a little to allow Patrick’s cock to slip farther between his cheeks, moaning wantonly as he feels it skim across his asshole.

Patrick lets out a low, dirty chuckle. “Does your ass need my attention?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly.

“Always,” Pete gasps out, and takes this as permission to spread his legs even further, going as far as to slide one knee up the shower wall a little. Patrick backs off, letting go of his wrists, and Pete’s expecting a smack on the ass for his brazenness, but instead he feels Patrick’s hand pushing at the underside of the knee he already has slightly raised.

“Put your leg up,” Patrick commands. To Pete’s surprise, he’s now positioned on his knees behind him. Pete slides his knee farther up, body still flush against the wall. Patrick puts a hand on his hip, pulling him backwards so that his ass is sticking out and his cock is no longer touching the tile, leaving Pete braced against the wall by his chest, the side of his face pressing into it. Once Pete’s positioned to his liking, Patrick says in a no-nonsense tone, “Spread yourself open.”

“Yes, Patrick,” Pete says, voice trembling with eagerness, as he moves his hands down to cup his ass, bringing his fingertips to the center so he can pull the cheeks apart, exposing himself entirely.

“Good boy.” Without another word, Patrick ducks between Pete’s legs and takes his balls into his mouth, sucking on them almost painfully before letting them go with a pop. As taken by surprise as he is, Pete prevents himself from moving, grateful he’s permitted to moan. Patrick wraps his tongue as far around the front of Pete’s balls as he can, before delicately tracing the seam all the way down and up the back, sliding over Pete’s perineum until the gentle point of his tongue reaches the pucker of his ass. He leaves it there for an agonizingly long moment, and Pete can feel his hole twitching against it, but he knows begging isn’t allowed unless Patrick asks him what he wants, so he fights to stay still, digging his blunt fingernails into his own tender flesh. A desperate whine is just starting to escape from the back of his throat when Patrick begins to _devour_ his ass, hungry licks and sloppy sucks culminating in Patrick plunging his stiffened tongue inside as far as it will go, leaving Pete feeling gloriously breached. Patrick has a strong, wide tongue that is surprisingly long, and it takes several strokes before Pete loosens around it and takes it easily. Missing the burn already, he presses backward into Patrick’s face, earning himself a stinging smack on the meat of his ass that makes his cock throb. He sobs at the loss of Patrick’s tongue.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Patrick asks him sharply.

“I’m sorry, Patrick,” Pete whines, truly meaning it.

Another smack in the same spot, and Pete has to fight humping the wall in front of him. “I asked what you think you’re doing,” Patrick repeats impatiently.

“I - I just wanted to feel more of a stretch,” Pete says in a rush, deciding to be as honest as possible.

“Such a tight little hole you have,” Patrick says, sounding disapproving. “I always have to stretch it open.” But the next thing Pete feels is two slick fingers sliding into him - Patrick must have brought lube with him into the shower. The stretch is far more considerable than Patrick’s tongue, so they burn more, but it’s exactly what Pete is looking for.

“Maybe I need to keep a plug in you all the time, keep you open and wet for me any time I want you,” Patrick says conversationally as he works his fingers in and out. “Would you like to play a show with a plugged ass?” This isn’t the first time this particular fantasy has been brought up, but Patrick has admitted he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on playing if he knew Pete was stage left with a hard a knob of silicone filling him. Pete has thought about maybe surprising Patrick one day by wearing one during a show and revealing it after the fact, but Pete’s not sure he’d be able to take that himself.

“Yes, if you put it there,” is the right answer, and Patrick crooks his fingers to rub at Pete’s spot with callused fingertips, before biting the area he spanked, hard. Pete squeezes tight around Patrick’s fingers, making his dick bob up and down where it’s hanging heavy in front of him. He can’t wait for it to be touched, but he knows better than to ask, and he would never touch himself without permission.

Patrick gets to his feet, keeping his fingers buried inside Pete, and presses up behind him, rutting slowly against his hip. His cock is slick with lube and feels exquisite sliding against Pete’s wet skin. He says lowly under Pete’s ear, “I’m going to give you a choice, baby,” and Pete shivers with anticipation. “Do you want me to get you off like this - “ he crooks his fingers sharply and wraps a hand around Pete’s cock as Pete struggles mightily to stay still “ - and then you can blow me?” Pete moans, but waits for option two. “Or do you want me to fuck you?”

This is a no-brainer. “I want your cock inside me,” he groans. “Please,” he adds, because he knows that telling Patrick to hurry is not acceptable.

Patrick lets out his low, sexy chuckle again, and Pete holds in a whimper when he removes his fingers and backs away for a moment to slick himself up with more lube. Pete is still braced against the wall, knee up, ass spread wide by his own hands. “God, I love it when you’re ready and waiting for me like this,” Patrick says in practically a growl. “You look so good...you _are_ so good.”

Patrick knows Pete’s in the mood to feel a stretch, so he immediately brings the head of his cock to his entrance, taking advantage of Pete holding himself open to tease at his rim. Pete is so turned on his every nerve is on fire - he can feel the soft, lightly textured skin of Patrick’s cock head skimming over each individual ridge. Pete whines, wanting to shove himself backwards and take Patrick’s cock all at once, but Patrick soon takes pity on him, seemingly reading his mind and lining up to press in with one smooth motion.

It’s a lot, because Pete wasn’t very loosened up, but he revels in the stretch and how deliciously full he feels. Patrick moves his hands to Pete’s hips and says, “Put your hands on the wall,” so Pete knows he’s in for a good fucking. He places his hands on the wall, fingers splayed out, and when Patrick asks, “Are you ready?” all Pete can do is breathe, “Fuck me.”

And fuck him Patrick does. Pete’s knee slides down, his head thuds dully against the wall and he tries desperately to hold on to anything, his nails dragging on the tile for purchase, as Patrick pounds into him, instantly knowing exactly the angle he needs to hit his prostate on every thrust. After noticing Pete struggling to maintain his position (or maybe he just gets tired), Patrick shifts, moving back a little, growling at Pete, “Fuck me back.” Since Patrick is the shorter of the two, Pete braces himself on his forearms and uses a squatting motion to bounce up and down onto Patrick’s cock, effectively bringing him in even deeper as Patrick meets him on every thrust. Patrick keeps one hand on Pete’s hip but mercifully brings the other around to start jerking him off.

“You’re gonna come with me,” Patrick grits out as he thrusts, and it’s not a suggestion; it’s a command. Patrick pumps Pete harder as he picks up his own pace, finally rising onto his tiptoes while he pulls Pete’s body roughly to him. He thrusts up one last time, simultaneously hitting Pete’s prostate head-on and squeezing his cock tightly. Pete spills over Patrick’s knuckles as he feels the familiar twitch of Patrick’s cock filling him.

Pete collapses against the wall and Patrick slumps against him, slick with both water and fresh sweat. Pete clenches around Patrick’s cock to keep him inside just a little longer. Patrick sucks in a sharp breath at the feeling.

“Careful pulling out,” Pete cautions in a whine, meaning that he doesn’t want Patrick to let his come escape. Pete likes to feel the trickle, wants the wetness in his underwear to go with the pleasant ache he’ll have tonight that will hopefully last through the next day. He wants as many reminders as he can get that Patrick was there.

“I will, baby,” Patrick assures him softly. They both hiss as he carefully pulls out, and he turns Pete around. Patrick’s hair is soaked and clinging to his forehead; his eyes are red and irritated from the spray of the shower, but Pete’s breath still catches in his throat at how gorgeous he is, and his heart aches at how seriously he examines Pete’s face like he always does, making sure he’s okay. “I love you,” he tells him, reaching up to push Pete’s own sopping hair behind his ear. “You did so well.”

“Thank you,” Pete says with a smug smile he can’t fight. He doesn’t think there is any better feeling in the world than knowing he’s pleased Patrick. “I love you, too.”

Patrick leans in for a long, languid kiss before pulling back and eyeing Pete critically. “You _are_ going to wash while we’re in here, right?”

Pete laughs and kisses him again. “I’ll wash you if you wash me,” he offers.

“Deal,” Patrick says. “But we should probably make it quick before they send a search party for us.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated. Hit up my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/coastingon-potential) if you want to say hi or talk fic


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